


Whatever It Takes

by mhs0501



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Ambition, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Backstabbing (Kinda), Children, Confusing, Drinking, Ernesto wasn't always a dangerous villain, F/M, Fluffy, Jealousy, Literal Chemistry, Long, Lotso Time Skips, Love Triangles, M/M, Meant to be a Oneshot, Music, Other, To Be Continued, greed - Freeform, poor use of spanish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 13:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13009158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhs0501/pseuds/mhs0501
Summary: Héctor Rivera is a hard working college student and dedicated father. Ernesto De La Cruz is a small named performer at Santa Cecilia's local cantina. What happens when these two men meet and discover their shared passions as well as secrets? What will become of them when they reach fame and fortune in 1920's Mexico?And what will they discover about each other as the definition of their relationship slowly begins to change?





	Whatever It Takes

When Héctor Rivera first saw Ernesto, he was barely a second thought.

 

He’d been out after long day of working with the bank to extend his deadline on his unpaid and fresh student loans after school and the ride home, jaded and exhausted with a few hours to do nothing in particular, knowing Imelda wouldn’t be expecting him home until after darkness fell and the fireflies dotted the starry sky.

 

Santa Cecilia’s one _cantina_ was a decently sized drop in an otherwise conservatively dry town-- off the main roads and a mere block’s jog from the train station where laborers and intellectuals alike would frequent for reasons hushed and well concealed within the beige plaster and burgundy brick, the bottle green shutters the only thing keeping the seedier sides of otherwise well standing community pillars from spilling out into the public like a tipped glass of charanda and forever staining the town red. The owners were well off, the patrons often less so, but the drinks were well priced and the live performances acted as background noise to the clatter of glass and jovial conversation.

 

It was one of the few places in town to hear music day and night live. Mariachi Plaza was quiet most of the year, radio had yet to catch on in such a small town and even so music was a rare treat with instruments an equally rare commodity without occupation.

 

Tonight however, the music was center stage, and reactions were far more polarized than Héctor cared to acknowledge in public.

 

The singer was a broad shouldered man with a broad jaw, small, soft eyes, and the beginnings of a pencil mustache and a sweaty cowlick that curled over his forehead that bounced with his movements. He swayed the microphone to his notes that floated clear and smooth as butter over the background disturbances, and the dozens of women swooned with ruby lipped smiles.

 

They all seemed completely oblivious to the horrendous lyrics and composition of the piece-- an outright insult to the musician who’d spent almost every night of his life writing, composing, singing -- when that _güey_ on the dias could barely keep the bar focused on alcohol with such honeyed notes.

 

The end of the song was dreadful; far more than the rest of it, with a stale high note that brutally separated any hope of the piece cohesively connecting while his _grito_ petered out like a broken leg. He barely refrained from stopping his ears, but the rest of the bar paid little attention to his withering scowl, a lanky college senior a mere face in the crowd to them.

 

“Ernesto de la Cruz!” A slender figure presented coyly as the performer took a bow to the patrons and looked up at the ceiling with his eyes closed in confidence to the applause and cheers that shattered the silence like glass.

 

Héctor grimaced and rolled his eyes, swiveling back to the bar and drumming his fingers on the counter with an empty shot of tejuino sitting lonely to his right.

 

No one seemed to step up and follow de la Cruz’s act, much to Héctor’s dismay. He’d been the last in a somewhat disappointing evening of a duet by two twins playing guitar and sultry, short _chica_ with what seemed to be no direction in life-- much less in performance. By then the two beers had started to kick in, and the poor finish to the evening was a blot in the back of his mind until he’d gotten to verse two and forced himself to turn around in awe and annoyance.

 

And Imelda had made fun of _his_ acting on stage.

 

He sighed, slipping two pesos next to the glass and turning it over when boisterous laughter grew closer from behind him. De la Cruz was wedged between two daughters of someone, all a homogenous mass of snobbish confidence that dissolved as he pecked one on the cheek before disentangling himself and sliding into the stool to Rivera’s right.

 

He hid his disgust by focusing on one of the red bottles on the shelf, trying to ignore the poor act who shined like a beacon even far from the spotlight, rattling the bar with his jubilance in the form of a fist that drew melting ire from the tender who sauntered over to the newest face.

 

“Two tequila shots for me and my _amigo_ , here.” He gave a smouldering grin to the older woman who rolled her eyes and became a shadow along the shelves of intoxication.

 

Héctor raised an eyebrow as he side eyed the other man, mouth slightly ajar. He’d _meant_ to say he was just leaving-- just let that promising girl take his stool and let him get home to his Coco. But the words came from de la Cruz’s before he could catch his breath.

 

“Ernesto de la Cruz.” He turned and held out a held almost expectantly, eyes shimmering with radiant confidence as Hector looked slightly dumbfounded and lightly accepted the gesture.

 

“I don’t usually drink tequila.” He turned back and narrowed his gaze at the wall before his companion grabbed his attention once again.

 

“I like it, really. It has a nice fire to it. Nights like tonight call for celebration, right?” He remarked wildly, passion etched in each word as the two shots were placed before them and the singer held his up in a toast.

 

Héctor rolled his eyes and humored him. One shot couldn’t hurt even if it was for this guy. If he saw himself as good who was he to rain on his parade, if only for a shot?

 

The alcohol burned at it soared down his throat but it was a quick, orgasmic rush. It didn’t send his head spinning like it usually would but it took a moment to focus on reality and more importantly that de la Cruz was still talking to him.

 

“--honestly it’s a breeze going up there, giving them what they all want. Music is a powerful gift and it will get me places one day. Why, it’s my dream to one day share my gift with the whole world--”

 

He suddenly wished he had another shot. This ego stroking was making him only more anxious to get home and leave this delusion solidly in his past.

 

“--and I’ve always been one to go for my dreams because if you don’t, well… what else is there to live for?” He held up two fingers within view of the barista.

 

Héctor turned his glass over, the sound of glass on wood louder than he’d wanted it to be. “Family? Friends? Schooling? Take your pick.”

 

He seemed not even the least bit put off by his blunt rebuttal. “We all have to decide what’s most important to us and in the end for me it was music. It wasn’t easy, of course but one must leave the nest eventually.”

 

Or in his case start a new one. He could hardly imagine a life without his wife and daughter both pleased him so.

 

“Tell me, _amigo_ ,” There was that word again as the second round of shots were set before them. “What is your dream?”

 

He paused before picking it up, running his fingers on the delicate ridges of crystal as he pondered. To finish school, pay off his debts, raise Coco, and grow old with Imelda, grandchildren and great grandchildren in tow. Balance his music to his family and support them with a good job.

 

But Ernesto de la Cruz would hardly see value in that, so again, he humored him. “To raise alpacas in the south seas, and write the greatest novel the world has ever known.”

 

The way his eyes widened with interest was adorable, especially as a chuckle escaped his shocked grin and he hung seemingly on the edge of his seat. “Seriously?”  

 

“No.” He deflated, a slight grin fading with his words.

 

“Why the dishonesty, _mi amigo_?” Ernesto prodded.

 

He took the shot. It wasn’t as bad as the first. “Because you wouldn’t care at all.”

 

His lips pursed in a grin. “Try me.”

 

He opened his mouth to tell him about Imelda-- how her voice captivated many young hearts and trembled with gorgeous vibrato whenever he played his guitar until they’d become intertwined and a beautiful, perfect daughter followed. But then he stopped.

 

Common interests were common interests. Why he wanted to keep talking he had no earthly clue. Maybe it was the anger the bank had put him in. Maybe it was the captivation of this stranger that gave him the time to talk and an edge to sharpen his ear. Maybe it was the tequila.

 

In any case, he played to his strengths like any musician would. “To keep my music alive and strong for years to come.”

 

Ernesto nodded amicably. “Now that, I could toast to had you not beaten me to the punch.” Before Héctor could stop him another round was ordered and the singer downed his second shot. “We’re quite the pair!”

 

Héctor rolled his eyes again but this time there was a smile. Small, but undeniably there. He sighed as his eyes trailed to the clock on wall, tarnished pendulum swinging quickly. The hands were past seven. He held his tongue as he looked at the stranger next to him. Coco would be in bed at seven thirty, father or no father to tuck her in, and he wasn’t about to disappoint her.

 

He dug into his pocket, and placed five pesos onto the counter. “It was good to meet you, _Señor_ de la Cruz, but I should get home soon.” He started to slide off the stool.

 

“Ah _señor,_ why leave so soon? The night’s still so young!”

 

“I have to tuck my _hija_ in before she sleeps. It’s our rule.” He recalled simply and de la Cruz placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Wait.” He squeezed it as his other hand swept the bar clean of the money he’d set out to pay for the shots. “Tonight’s on me. I’ve got enough in tips to cover us.”

 

He tried to protest. “No no no no-”

 

But the singer quickly placed his own money down and held the pesos out expectantly. There was that smouldering grin again. His own expression offered an explanation. Ernesto shrugged simply, relinquishing his hand. “We musicians have to stick together.”

 

He had no idea if Ernesto was serious for a moment until he caught sight of his eyes. There was a deep sincerity to those rich irises that stared into him with playful guise. He was at a crossroads and kindness seemed his lot. Not his type to hang around with usually, as jokes aside the world was his oyster. He had a long life ahead of him.

 

Whether or not de la Cruz did, he was sure there was potential-- if he could improve from singing about the typical loss of some _chica_ and get his _grito_ to do anything aside from disturb the dead, there was hope for him yet.

 

* * *

 

One week later he sat on the same bar stool, de la Cruz to his right again and this time with a rose discarded beside his usual shot.

 

“It was a gift,” He seemed slightly sheepish of it when Héctor had pointed it out. “One of those _chicas_ with a heart bigger than her eyes.”

 

He grinned slyly. “Did she ask you home?”

 

This brightened the singer a bit as a jovial laugh burst from his gut. “She certainly _wanted_ to but here I am now! Curfew kept us apart.” He shed a faux tragic tear and pretended to wipe it away.

 

He hadn’t seen the other man since their first night meeting and circumstance this time allowed for the same thing to transpire-- albeit Héctor chose to wait until after his companion’s performance to be spared a self induced headache, but he was waiting for him at the same bar stool, shots ready and girls swooning in the corners like omnipresent shadows.

 

“How unfortunate.” He griped sarcastically with a soft grin. “They adore you and yet they can’t have you just for the pleasure.”

 

He laughed again. “If they can’t do what it takes I can’t be held responsible for a few broken hearts.” He took his tequila down quick. “Besides, they’re not really my type. Too… short sighted for me.”

 

“I figured.” He leaned into the bar with crossed arms, hand snaking around the shot.

 

“What of you, _mi amigo,_ ” Ernesto began after a moment’s pause. “Were you lucky in love?”

 

“ _Mucha suerte._ ” He blushed lightly, thinking of his courtship with his bride. “But I won’t bore you on the details.”

 

“Why not?” He prodded.

 

Héctor took his shot and turned the glass over, leaning into the counter once more. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

 

Seeing his frown made his ears glow red in the darkness of the tavern and his throat tensed with regret, the bitter tang of tequila shrinking his tongue until a smile returned to Ernesto’s expression and a sided, unopened grin appeared.

 

“You misjudge me, _mi amigo_. Of course I would be interested! Why I’ve told you plenty about myself, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t learn more about you?”

 

His eyes gazed away, towards the stage where the spotlight shined empty and the microphone stood alone. The general chatter and toasts rung in his ears. He tried to recall the gaudy man he’d seen a week prior, an open and shut case with girls to screw and an ego to stroke with an unfocused talent that was simultaneously beautiful and destructive, and the two men seemed complete strangers. The one he was sitting next to had chosen to sit down next to him and buy him a drink, share his time, and wave off other’s admiration as if his bar companion was above their importance; a complete stranger who showed almost no appreciation for his abilities. And he didn’t even know his name.

 

“It’s Héctor.” He corrected and de la Cruz nodded once. “Héctor Rivera.”

 

“Well then, Héctor,” He adapted quickly. “Tell me more about yourself.”

 

He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

 

A beat passed as the gears turned in the singer’s mind before childish glee flashed and that smile resurfaced, more genuine than what he’d seen before. “You said you had to get home to your _hija_ before. I’m guessing she’s important to you?”

 

“Yes, she and my wife both.” He nodded. “We always say goodnight together.”

 

“And you’re married!” He exclaimed. “That’s wonderful! Give me names, Héctor _._ ”

 

Rivera paused. “How come? Does that matter to you?”

 

He was unphased and called over the bartender, tonight an elderly man. “Merely keeping tabs _mi amigo_. If I ever want to get better at writing songs then names are a good place to start-- with your permission of course.”

 

“You want to get better.” He realized with a raised eyebrow. Ernesto rolled his eyes with a shrug.

 

“Eh. I could be much better. Problem is all my songs are about this one _chica_ who left me a while back… said I wasn’t what her father wanted. Good starting material but heartbreak can’t carry a career, you see.”

 

He scoffed lightly, shrugging up the sleeves to his jacket. “No one around here seems to mind.”

 

“That’s the thing-- two beers, _Señor_ ; surprise me -- they’re all looking at the small picture: to them I’m just some guy who can sing, and if I’m going to seize my dream they’re not going to hand it to me if I’m just the hundredth boy from a small town who struck out on his own. A voice is useless without the right words _mi amigo_. If I don’t work to get better then this _cantina_ will be the only place that appreciates me for all of the wrong reasons.” He gestured around the dark building lit by candles when the glory of the concert halls and showrooms seemed his greater destiny.

 

Héctor sighed, looking between the overturned shot glasses and the man who quickly recovered from his realization as if it had never even surfaced in his mind once with a brimming smile.

 

“You want to get better, _señor_?” He questioned. “People have told me I’ve got a knack for writing songs but my voice isn’t much to compare.”

 

He also wasn’t the best performer, but if Ernesto de la Cruz was as serious and truthful to his dream as he looked, he could muster up the strength to get better at it like he would.

 

“Héctor, what are you proposing?” His tone was etched with intrigue as a pair of mugs were set by the men.

 

“That we both get our dreams. I get to train you with my music, and you get to perform for the crowds.” Excitement seemed to course through his blood. The more he said it the more it sounded like something he could see himself be part of. Imelda and Coco wouldn’t mind so much so long as he stayed true to them; after all, his family was his life.

 

This excitement seemed rather contagious. “Yes, I can see it now!” Ernesto gestured wildly with his arms. “Ernesto de la Cruz and Héctor Rivera; musical duo taking Mexico by storm!”

 

Well… not _quite_ what he had in mind; but who was he to spoil a companion’s good fun?

 

Watching the way he quivered excitement-- in his simple striped shirt and corduroy slacks was a gorgeous thing indeed, as a spectator merely a foot from such a jubilant, hopeful spirit with the world in the palm of his hand. His eyes widened with wonder and ambition as a powerful _grito_ tore through him, perfect and nothing like his poor excuse for one before.

 

He immediately shot up from his stool and grabbed his mug, and in the light of the many candles his strong jawline opened wide with laughter as he hoisted the beer high into the air, yeast sloshing over the sides.

 

“To second chances, _mi amigo_ !” He cheered and waited for Héctor to follow his lead, but the tequila left his throat rather dry and no _grito_ was ever going to be released in his presence. Instead he merely stood up, civilized, and hoisted his mug to clatter against his friends.

 

His partner in music; the next big names, with the both of them together.

 

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” Ernesto prompted.

 

“We’ll seize our moment!” Héctor finished as the pair gulped down their toast with a promise in the darkness of the _cantina._ It was the beginning of a new world for both of them. Neither of them knew what the future held, but they knew there was a chance.

 

They just had to take it.

 

 

* * *

 

The night was well past its infancy by the time Héctor and Ernesto stumbled their way home-- well, while Héctor carried the drunken singer to his hostel and his roommates carried him to bed. The moon was high in the sky and a welcome beacon of light in the dark streets, the last lights having gone out who knew how long ago. The only place still awake was the _cantina_ and by this point neither of the men felt like sticking around for the less wholesome entertainment that swept past the bar when the last new patron left the premises.

 

Again, Héctor was more opposed-- Ernesto was far too drunk to keep his judgements in check and Héctor knew it would weigh on his conscience if he didn’t try to escort his _amigo_ home.

 

Walking home in the brisk September evening was much akin to his own feelings with whistling guiding his course-- floating on air with warmth coursing through his limbs as he stepped over cobblestones towards the front door, the corner of their lot shaded from the moon with a mature avocado tree that had yet to bear fruit. It was a quaint dwelling bought on dreams and filled with music almost every single day and night.

 

Fireflies danced around a light that shone from the living room through the side window. A rock dropped in his stomach. Imelda was never the type to let anything go unnoticed and he’d forgotten such a fact at the worst possible time.

The feeling of ecstasy died in his stomach, crushed under a fearful mass.

 

But it waned, and he furrowed his brow expectantly as he marched up to the front door and tried his key. The lock clicked open and the door was carefully pushed into the dark shadow of the main room, the wooden floor immaculate with the one exception of dust tracked in by his boots.

 

And sitting on his favorite chair in her paper thin nightgown was his wife, hands folded into fists on her knees with a dark, impertinent scowl on her normally soft face. Her eyes were black in the dimming light of the candle, the orange flame dancing on the wick precariously as she trained her vision on her spouse and silence persisted, neither of them willing to break the silence.

 

Except for the subtle ticking of the grandmother clock in the kitchen both of them trained on each other, the lack of sound an unbearable curse as their sleeping daughter laid deep in her dreams down the hall.

 

“You want to tell me where you have been?” She leaned forward a bit, tensing in her anger.

 

“It was just a long night, Imelda.” Héctor tried to reason from his place, knowing his wife would be dissatisfied with an excuse.

 

Her clucking tongue proved him correct. “You know better than to hold the truth from me, Héctor. I don’t want to hear an excuse-- just an answer. The last thing we want is for her to wake up.”

 

“I was at the _cantina_ listening the performances.” He tilted his head.

 

“When you could’ve been here with us, tucking your baby _hija_ into bed.” She countered narrowly avoiding an accusatory tone.

 

“And I should’ve, but I lost track of time.” He confessed, taking a step into his domain. “But   _cariña_ , please, can we talk about this in the morning?”

 

Her face softened again, lips sliding into a slight frown before getting up from her seat and walking over to her husband. She crossed her slender arms. “This only has to be as long as you make it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me like I’m leaving you in the morning because you know we’re both better than that.”

 

His eyes downcast. “Imelda,”

 

“And you know I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to.” She cut him off as he felt a pain in his heart. “She wanted me to let her stay up to say goodnight to her _papá_ and I did.”

 

He gulped with a slight grin, imagining Imelda dealing with the small, persistent storm that Coco could be when it came to her father. “How long did she last?”

 

Her face saddened as she shared his small grin for a split second before focusing on him. “Barely half an hour; but that doesn’t change that you still weren’t there. She didn’t even cry, she was just so-- worried about you. _Afraid_ for you. Héctor, I never want to see her that again, do you understand?”

 

He understood completely. Socorro was such an emotional little thing; always expressive, always changing, always in wonder with the world around her, but silence and fear, once they cornered her were demons against something so small she couldn’t fend them off alone. Looking at the door now all he could see was her in her tiny nightgown, toddling over to the place where her _papá_ would enter her world again and trying to fathom what could be keeping him from singing her to sleep like he always did. If something too large for her little mind to comprehend was responsible; if it was words she couldn’t yet pronounce but could place her mind’s eye to them with perfect accuracy. Things she only now was beginning to fear-- and all because he’d let himself be distracted by something so far off in another part of him.

 

“This will never happen again, _cariña_ , I swear.” He placed a hand on her cheek as she uncrossed her arms. “I promise.” He drew her into a hug which she accepted, shin on his shoulder.

 

“That’s good.” She remarked quietly. “Be sure to tell her that tomorrow, please?”

 

“I will.” He nodded as they broke the embrace. “But as for us, I would say it’s well past our bedtimes. I still have class tomorrow.”

 

“I know _mi amado._ ” Imelda sighed. “I’ll see you in bed.”

 

“You’re not coming?” He started towards their room. Imelda rolled her eyes.

 

“Just putting out the candle.” She answered simply as she bent over the small flame.

 

“Always diligent.” He remarked with hands on his hips as he waited. “Always burning.”

 

“Always a _lengua larga_.” She snickered. “But always mine.”

 

“ _For as long as you’ll have me,_ ” He quietly sang as the candle hissed and went out. A familiar hand found it’s way to his shoulder as his own wrapped around her waist.

 

“ _I’ll be your heaven and earth, mi amor.”_ She finished his verse for him as they strolled side by side to bed.

 

* * *

 

Telling Imelda of his newfound friend went over far better than the gifted musician had anticipated, especially given her sour disposition towards his tardiness before but his promise held true. Setting up time to tutor the man gave him plenty of pause from the hectics of his chemistry course at the university further south, his family’s antics, and the pressures of knowing that Ernesto was proving somewhat unresponsive to his advice despite insisting on paying for his sessions.

 

If anything his wife seemed glad that he had something to occupy the down periods and hours in the evening knowing that his pupil would give them much needed income to pay for his schooling and their livelihood, and Coco was very forgiving to her _papá_ and a deal was forged between family and patriarch: He would ride south for school in the morning after breakfast, ride back to Santa Cecilia at four, tutor de la Cruz until six, be home for dinner after, and tuck his daughter in by seven thirty.

The mechanics were simplistic and provided Héctor fulfilled his end his family was very happy to allow him time to unwind and pursue his passions. Imelda had even started a fledgling service of cooking her famous _tamales_ for anyone who would pay a fair sum.

 

Ernesto was grateful for the help in fine tuning his writing, and knowing he had the potential to launch a successful career from a tiny second floor bedroom in his roommate’s rented home helped both men’s enthusiasm a fair bit. Héctor's guitar was one he’d bought on a whim one day shortly after he’d married Imelda and was out at a marketplace-- it was a brilliant white body with _calavera_ painted surface and a decorative skull shaped head. It’s aesthetic value alone guaranteed that it would capture his attention and the haggling between him and the merchant and then him and Imelda ended with him keeping the instrument and him owing her a song every once in awhile when she asked.    

Tutoring sessions were one of the few times he played for Ernesto and started him off with a few small songs and ballads that he’d written during his free periods. Forcing the guitar into his eager hands was an easy feat and soon writing was abandoned in hopes of getting him to play correctly as no good performer in his right mind could make it without his own musical accompaniment.

 

“No no no,” He gently corrected from the other side of the twin bed that sat next to the window, hand resting on Ernesto’s as he stopped mid chord. “ _Esperar, mi amigo_. On string D it’s an E, not an A sharp. Try it again.”

 

Ernesto sighed and moved his hand back to the first fret to start the complex chord again. Closing his eyes and taking a cleansing breath, he balanced the guitar on his cross legged lap and tried again, as per his tutor’s requests.

 

This time it was a B flat, but Ernesto clearly heard his mistake as he sucked in a growl and ceased his movements, groaning as his grin slackened. Héctor recovered quickly-- though he knew the mistake was there a reaction was unwarranted.

 

“Nobody said that this was going to be easy.” He reminded from where he sat as Ernesto merely scowled at the instrument. “Do you want to see the sheet music?”

 

A beat passed. “No.” He answered quietly.

 

“Do you want to try it again?” He leaned over slowly.

 

“...Yes.” He nodded slowly. Héctor merely waved his hand and resumed his position, his permission granted as the other man tensed slightly as his hand again slid up the neck to the first fret.

 

The harmony echoed well in through the sound hole as his hands weaved similar music to the writer’s tastes and neither man corrected it. It was exactly as it was meant to be until the final note dulled in its echo as Ernesto’s eyes popped open in shock.

 

“I did it,” He started to chuckle, softly at first until the joy exploded from his eyes and he bounced on the other end of the twin as he held the guitar up and the mattress creaked warily. “I did it!”

 

Rivera looked on as he strummed twice and played the same chord again, much more confidently than before. A _grito_ tore from his throat until there was a banging sound on the wooden planks and he cut himself off.

 

 _“Keep it down up there, Ernesto!”_ His roommate’s voice echoed through the thin floor. _“I got a chica coming over in five minutes and if you’re not quiet you and your tutor better hope I don’t notice or you’re doing laundry for the rest of the week!”_

 

Ernesto shrugged and quickly sat back down. “We heard you, Enrique!” After a moment he sighed with disappointment. “I guess the session’s over for tonight.”

 

Héctor raised an eyebrow and checked his watch, a new addition to his outfit after he brokered his deal. The two small hands indicated that it was still half past five and as far as he could tell Ernesto wasn’t the type to gyp him on payment due to his roommate’s demands.

 

“We’ve still got half an hour to go, _mi alumno._ We could work on your writing, if you want?”

 

“Nah,” Ernesto waved his hand half heartedly as he set the guitar against the side of his bed. “I’m not really in the mood for that tonight.”

 

“Well you’re not paying me for nothing.” Héctor concluded. The other man stared at him earnestly.

He shifted his position so his back was leaning up against the wall. “We could just talk.”

 

“You can’t pay me for that.” He shook his head.

 

“Unless it helps me get inspiration-- like I said, it comes with talking.” Ernesto proposed. “Unless you don’t feel like talking, I mean…”

 

“No, no!” Héctor blinked. “If it helps you with inspiration, then sure.”

 

“Alright then,” Ernesto concluded. “How are Imelda and Socorro?’

 

The college student smiled wistfully. “They’re well. Coco wore through another pair of her stockings today so Imelda had to take her to the tailors this afternoon. They left around noon I think.”

 

“That’s a little far.” The singer remarked. “Isn’t the only tailors--”

 

“Further south by train? _Sí._ She left me dinner in the cupboard for when I get home.”

 

“Are the trains running late today?” He tilted his head as his gaze turned towards the window.

 

“No, not that I could tell, at least.” Héctor concluded knowing his family would be home in time to say good night. He was about to ask why he thought the train was late but refrained. Ernesto seemed onto something with his brow contorting in such a manner. He had to have been in the midst of a brainstorm and the last thing he wanted was to derail the train of thought. “What about you and your roommates? Anything new going on for them?”

 

“Well…” Ernesto began with his eyes flicking to the floor. “Enrique’s got a new _chica_ , as you can tell, and has been tearing around Santa Cecilia every night. Teobaldo’s been taking more history classes further south, and I’ve been learning how to play guitar.” He finished with a shrug. “I’m getting better.”

 

“That’s the spirit, _mi amigo_ .” He clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll keep getting better. Your _grito’s_ ten times better than when I first heard you!”

 

His eyes widened as he stifled a laugh. “And yet they still cheered. It must’ve been the _tequila._ ”

 

“It _could_ have been all those _chicas_ in the audience;” He acknowledged playfully. “You are quite the _guapo_ to all of them.”

 

He snorted. “Don’t remind me… it’s bad enough they see me as one. If I ever end up with one of them you know I’d have to be drunk. That’s why I like you, Héctor: you’re there to point out my weaknesses. Without you I’d probably still be wasting nights in that _cantina_ instead of getting better.”

 

Héctor leaned forward over the bed. “You seem a bit high strung on women, _mi alumno_.”

 

The singer went red and a bead of sweat appeared from behind his black cowlick.

 

“Well… they’re not all I’m interested in, if you understand.”

 

 _That_ wasn’t the answer he’d expected in the slightest. A moment of silence passed as the other man’s eyes widened and his mouth closed from where it had split wide like the popped seam of a puppet.

 

The silence was incriminating as Ernesto flushed red with either anger or embarrassment, realizing a line had been crossed somehow. He turned away, shameful. It was heartbreaking, the way he slumped, vulnerable and clearly coming apart right in front of him.

 

Héctor crawled over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “ _Mi amigo,_ I understand and I’m not upset.” He tried to say what he could to calm this moment before it could consume anything else. “I was just… taken aback, is all.”

 

“You wouldn’t be the first.” He chuckled morosely. “I came to terms with it but others… they’d never understand.”

 

“I won’t tell.” He replied quickly and just like that the weight upon the singer’s shoulders seemed to vanish. It was strange to him, how even in their privacy and comradery that they still didn’t dare say such a fact aloud.

 

But nevertheless the tension held a weak grip and that single bead of sweat crawled down his face, his forehead shiny as Héctor moved to sit beside him and kept his hand tightly wrapped around his shoulder.

 

He wanted to ask questions, curious as he almost never was. How many knew, being the most pertinent but somehow he knew better than to prod or pry. They may have been friends, they may have been business partners, but there were plenty of things Rivera knew he had no right to know and Ernesto had no reason to tell him.

 

The other question was if the confused man realized how much this could hinder his career or sink it to the ocean’s floor before he could breach the surface to fame. This was a secret he knew neither of them could dare let escape this room, even if others did know and understand; they would see him as less than he was and Héctor wouldn’t dare let that happen.

 

He was his pupil and above all else his friend, and he had a dream. That wasn’t going to deter him or Ernesto so long as he could help it.

 

“You know, Héctor,” He finally sighed after a moment, placing his hand atop his partners and massaging it softly. “You’re probably the first person who’s understood me at all.”

 

He grinned slyly. “You did drive me _un_ _poco loco_ , _al principio._ ”

 

“ _Poco_ ?” Ernesto inquired. “Perhaps. _poquito_ , _mi amor._ ”

 

Lightning struck in his mind as he exclaimed wildly and fumbled through his bag for his notes and his other hand searched for a pen.

 

“What is it?” The singer stood up. “Too much?”

 

“No, Ernesto, you _genio loco_! Say it again!” Héctor prompted with a wide grin, pen and paper ready as the gears churned in his head.

 

“ _Un poco loco_?” He repeated, confused.

 

The college student scribbled something down and tossed the page aside, quickly grabbing the guitar as a breath passed as he tuned the instrument and strummed once. His eyes darted to Ernesto who simply stared, completely lost.

 

He groaned. “Say it again, before I lose it!”

 

“ _Un poco loco._ ” The other man forced out, not wanting to lose this opportunity to get a new song. The musician tried two chords on his guitar and grunted as he pointed his pen to his _amigo_ once more, waving it in a circular motion.

 

“Say that other thing.”

 

“Ah…”

 

“The other word for little.” He pressed.

 

“ _Un poquito loco_ …” He answered immediately. A repeated chord followed.

 

“Sing that to this.” Héctor strummed the familiar note several times. “Accent the _t_ a few times _por favor._ ”

 

The singer straightened up a bit as his partner played the starting chord and his voice leapt from his throat, following his instructions as best as he could. The other man, upon hearing it instantly slackened his grip on the guitar and fished out his notes again, checking something off.

 

“We just might have something here, _mi amigo_.” He realized quietly, looking deeply at the empty bars so full of potential for life-- a blank canvas on which he could make a masterpiece. “We just might have something.”

 

“Are you always that fast?” Ernesto questioned, slightly shocked. Héctor looked up and his eyes turned towards the ceiling as he thought about his answer.

 

“Only when really good inspiration comes by.” He finally replied and continued to scribble something down.

 

“I have a lot to live up to.” He acknowledged and his friend looked up to him again.

 

“You have a lot to learn.” He corrected.

 

“Ay, I swear you’re gonna make me _un_ montón _loco._ ” He sighed and fell back onto the end of the twin bed as the other man fell into a fit of laughter.

 

“Save that for the second verse, _mi lobo._ ” He managed to say between them.

 

* * *

 

Héctor’s third term and seasonal exams came and went. Tutoring continued with little to no actual progress from what either men could tell but the Ernesto continued to pay for his time. It was a strange little arrangement, but it worked as well as it had before… only these times became more divided than any time the musician could recall. He and Ernesto would go over guitar for as long as his roommates allowed and as long as they could continue to press their luck, Ernesto would sing  and hum at random times, Héctor would get bursts of insight-- sparks of creativity, and he would write them down in his notes. New harmonies were bred and born; duets forged in black ink and parchment, and the duo would sing their respective parts to the best of their abilities and it would become another notch in the writer’s belt and a new tune for Ernesto to perform at the _cantina_.

 

It worked steady and precise-- almost like clockwork, and inspiration flowed through the pair as easily as a current through a damp coil.

 

But as for Ernesto learning to write? That aspect of his job seemed to go completely out the window as the new songs earned more and more tips. The barmaid was even offering him a decent sum to take up time on their off nights to draw in customers and within the months of work news of his exploits was spreading throughout Santa Cecilia like revolutionary fire. And Héctor was proud.

 

He wished he could say the same for himself; knowing that he couldn’t bring in such money through much recognition. Imelda didn’t care if he danced with the devil, it seemed; so long as he was content and home for dinner each night.

 

But seeing his _hija’s_ smiling face as she grew into a small girl was all the satisfaction in his life he could want and more. Oftentimes the only bright spots beyond his brief times with his friend were watching Coco tumble on the floor with the new doll Ernesto had bought for her, it’s smooth china face a gift from far north and the dress an elegant _huipil_ that mirrored a garden of flowers. He would listen to her babbles, her imagination running wild in the candlelit floor of the living room as Imelda worked on sewing and he tried to keep from waning in his seat. He wouldn’t miss her adventures with her little _niña_ for the world.

 

“Watch out!” She suddenly burst as her hand flew into the air, the delicate doll suddenly hoisted into the air. “ _Alebrije!_ ” She whispered with intense emotion as she hugged her friend close to her chest to protect her from the spirit she saw in her dreams.

 

He couldn’t help but grin. “Coco, _cariña_ ,” He pulled himself to the rug she laid upon. “ _Alebrije_ shouldn’t scare you.”

 

She looked up at him with doe eyes. “ _Papá_ ,” She began quietly. “ _Muy extraño._ ”

 

“ _Sí,_ ” He nodded, laying down next to her and staring up at the imaginary monster she’d conjured to serve as a villain to her and her doll’s adventures. “But that’s what makes them so special. They guide and guard _la muertos_ on their journey. Without the bright colors they would never be able to find their way here or back.”

 

“... guide?” She questioned in her tiny voice, doll still clutched tight.

 

Her father nodded again. “Yes. As long as they’re near, family is too. Maybe it can help you and your _amigo_ fight the new villain.”

 

“New?” She sounded confused.

 

His grin became wicked and mischievous. “Why of course, Coco. Nobody can ever know that I’m a _brujo malvado_!” He sprung up and she screamed playfully as Imelda looked up from her sewing. “I’m off to capture your mother in my lair!” He threatened as he closed in Imelda and she rolled her eyes and set her embroidery aside.

 

“No!” She feigned as she stood. “I shall never come with you!” She placed a head above her forehead dramatically.

 

“But you must!” Héctor wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her into a dip. “For I shall shower you with all my earthly affections, _mi amor_!”

 

“Leave _mamá_!” Coco charged with a playful grin and latched herself onto his leg. “Lupe!”

 

“Lupe?” Imelda looked down at their daughter, confused.

 

“ _Alebrije mamá_!” Coco exclaimed as she squeezed her father’s leg. “Go!” She commanded as Héctor stole a kiss from his wife before releasing her and stumbling away.

 

“ _Ay_!” He cried and clutched his chest. “Lupe has wounded me!”

 

Imelda tried to compose herself as Coco charged again, dropping her doll to the floor and charging at her _papá_ with a wild squeal, her imagination free and alive like a dancing fire. Héctor laughed and snatched at the air. “I forgot my shield!”

 

The imaginary bracing did little to prepare for his _hija_ launching herself at him and he barely managed to hold his balance before submitting as she squeezed his stomach tight, grip weakening as she seemed to grow weary and exhausted. They both ended up on the floor and out of breath from laughter as Imelda came over and stood above them, the victorious Coco now snuggled atop her father’s chest.

 

Within the span of ten minutes Coco was beneath her covers, sleeping softly with doll in hand and dreams floating in head. He knew they carried the melody he sang to her each night, reminding her that no matter how far apart they seemed that he’d always be there within her heart.

 

Imelda was about to escort him to bed like the shambling _calaca_ he was when a knock sounded at the door, but she smiled and helped her husband to bed, allowing the knock to echo through the house once more until he was lying down to receive the person at the door.

 

His eyes closing, he could here her greet someone. It was a teenager, a young _chico_ by the sound of it.

 

“Telegram for Héctor Rivera, _Señorita_.”

 

“ _Gracias, Señor._ ” She nodded and took the message. “I’ll see to it he gets it by morning.”

 

The door shut and he could feel her warm shadow sashaying to the bedroom as she came over to his end to the bed, scanning the note.

 

“Héctor,” She began. “It’s from Ernesto.”

 

“ _Mi amada_ , please,” He yawned. “Just leave it for the morning.”

 

A moment passed as she read the note again and set it down on his nightstand. “Héctor,” She took a breath as he started to drift. “You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”

 

He grunted. “Of course, Imelda.” He grinned. “I love you.”

 

“I know.” She remarked. “I love you too.”

 

With that settled, he rolled over, and let himself finally rest for the night.

 

* * *

 

A day passed.

 

Héctor and Ernesto trained for a gig at the _cantina,_ knowing that a judge for one the town’s few annual music festivals would be stopping by. Getting into it was a difficult venture as it wasn’t good form to approach and request an audience with a judge lest you wished to be accused to be bribing or trying to tip the scales in your favor. It had taken a fair bit of brown nosing the owner into saying that he showed up every Thursday-- a day which Ernesto had never performed due to his usual overtime shift landing then and the same day Héctor needed to stay later after school to study for his coming exams.

 

But late shifts and school be damned they knew missing this chance meant another year playing small games in a small town. Ernesto especially had been very insistent that he needed his partner there to give him support he needed to go on for a true judge.  

 

“Ernesto,” He’d taken a collect call at the college’s phone booth after receiving a notice from his teacher during his history class that a man claiming to be his grandfather was on the phone for him with news about his sick grandmother. “You cannot call me in the middle of class.”

 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Héctor, _please_ ,” He sounded weary and slightly panicked at the same time. “I can’t do it if you’re not there to play.”

 

“The performance isn’t for another three hours, _mi amigo._ ” He answered in a comforting deadpan. “The train back to Santa Cecilia leaves in an two hours and I’m out of class in that same time. If it’s fast enough I can get there on time.”

 

“If the train is fast enough,” Ernesto called his logic into question, his fear getting the better of him.

 

“Well I can’t just leave class to get back!” He scowled at the phone, setting his hand on the wall mounted body and drumming his fingers on the wood. “ _Señor_ Basurto has been on my case about my assignments. If I let this slide I won’t have a future.”

 

“If you help me you _can_ have a future!” He countered broadly. “Chemistry is a small world in Mexico; you may not have a steady job for _years_.”

 

“There’s more to life than music, Ernesto.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “Look, I’m gonna try to make it but you can’t keep betting on me to save your act. One day you’ll have to go on without me.”

 

“But Héctor please, _mi amigo_ I need you now. You can’t just throw me out on the stage like this and expect me to play when the only person I know isn’t there to remind me I can do this.”

 

“Look I get it, this isn’t fair but I can’t leave class.”

 

“I thought we were partners?” His voice raised an octave with crippling terror.

 

“ _Mi amigo_ we _are._ ” He reassured. “But I--”

 

“But you can’t spare five minutes to get here and be there for me? If our places were reversed I would be out the door by now.”

 

“Ernesto, please, I can’t--”

 

“Héctor it’s _five minutes. Cinco minutos._ You miss the last few minutes of a lab or something, you can explain it to your _catedrático_. That’s why I called with the built in excuse!”

 

A realization passed over the musician. He had completely forgotten about that. His conflicting emotions bounced around the inside of his skull like firecrackers, soft and petering out as he leaned up against the glass wall of the booth and sighed. Ernesto was a crafty little _tramposo_.

 

“Okay,” He reasoned. “Okay. Who did you call as again?”

 

“Your _papá_ Cruz is calling because your _mamá_ Silvia is in critical condition. They don’t know if she’s going to last the night.”

 

“What’s the ailment?” He pressed, a bead of sweat crawling down his forehead.

 

“It’s just the flu but she’s had a history of medical problems.” He continued smoothly. “She’s been asking for you all day.”

For a moment the student completely forgot that his grandmother had died when he was five and his grandfather had passed before he was even born. He hadn’t even seen his parents since he’d left for college and hadn’t heard from his own mother since he’d married Imelda. They hadn’t approved of their union since she was a bit more ambitious than most of the _chica’s_ they’d wanted their precious _mijo_ to marry.

 

“ _Mi amigo_ if this music thing doesn’t work out we need to get you to stage performances because your acting is far too convincing to be used for good.”

 

“That’s just how I am.” He could see his devilish grin on the other end of the line. “Now go! Your _Mamá_ Silvia is waiting for you!”

 

“I’ll meet you at home _Papi_ de la Cruz.” He answered with a roll of his eyes and hung up before he missed another moment of time with an excuse in mind or made the call go any longer than needed. Lord knew how much the man was shelling out for some time to vent to him.

 

The rest of his course went off without any problems. The lecture was long, the notes even longer. There was no opportunity for a lab, as Ernesto had predicted, but Señor Basurto allowed him to leave half an hour early to catch the train back to Santa Cecilia, but only after giving him the nights’ assignments and telling him to meet earlier the next morning to discuss what he missed for the rest of the day.

 

The promise was easy to make. Héctor Rivera was nothing if not an honest man, to his friends or his superiors.

 

The _cantina_ welcomed Ernesto’s return with open arms and he greeted each regular with fanfare and with his best friend seated comfortably within his view he began his rendition of their classic _Un Poco Loco_ to warm up the crowd. Seated within his line of sight he could see the man whom they’d vied for, and he sat alone with a half drained mug of beer by the time Ernesto was finished, not seeming very impressed.

 

Héctor bit his lip and swallowed the dregs of his tejuino in one gulp. This wasn’t going as they’d planned. Clearly everyone else at the _cantina_ was enjoying the performance like they usually did.

 

As Ernesto came to the end of _Un Poco Loco_ in the midst a small guitar solo his eyes found Héctor and darted to the judge. His lips puckered slightly as he formulated a thought.

 

He pulled out a pencil and scribbled something on the napkin before holding it up to the candle on his table so that his friend would be able to read it. A flash of recognition and then worry passed through Ernesto but he buried it and returned in full swing, determined to finish _Un Poco Loco_ with his best foot forward.

 

 _The World Es Mi Familia_ was the closest hint Héctor could give to him. Neither of them knew the judge personally and therefore couldn’t breach his tastes, but it was their best song for crowd involvement-- a true testiment in Ernesto’s eyes of what music could do at it’s best.

 

Sure enough by the end of the song the entire bar was alight with interest and joyous _gritos_ flew up from every corner. But the judge remained unmoved and downed the rest of his beer. Héctor knew that behavior; he’d been the exact same way that first night. Alcohol dulled the pain of his musical performance, but this was the exact opposite of what either of them wanted now. If he walked out they would have missed their one big shot, and the gap between their time on stage and the amount of beer left in that one frosty mug was rapidly shrinking.

 

A moment of silence passed as a distressed Ernesto looked again to his partner for a split second before something seemed to come over him and Héctor drained, needles pricking the edges of his cold fingertips. He silently prayed from his seat that the singer knew what he was doing.

 

He strummed his guitar, checking the tune of the strings and adjusting the pegs accordingly as the fear shrunk from his eyes and he turned away from his partner to face the judge.

 

His own _grito_ pierced the silence and he started a chord. _“Remember me,”_ He began with a fast accompaniment. _“Though I have to say goodbye remember me; don’t let it make you cry,”_

 

Héctor felt a weight drop in his stomach. A familiar tune and one he’d never taught Ernesto himself. It was much to personal to him to ever risk letting him share it with Santa Cecilia.

 

 _“For even if I’m far away I’ll hold you in my heart, I sing a secret song for you each night we are apart-- remember me!”_ He perked up from his somber words and the other man felt the sudden urge within him to jump atop the stage and throttle him but the weight of his shock kept him cemented to his chair.

 

 _“Though I have to travel far, remember me-- each time you hear a sad guitar!”_ He stole a glance at the judge who stared intently at the singer, this new act a surprise and silent dominated the atmosphere as his song, _Coco’s_ song, filled the crowded _cantina._

 

 _“Know that I’m with you the only way that I can be…”_ He trailed off, voice smooth and soft as butter. “ _Until you’re in my arms again…”_

 

He sunk into the wooden back. The judge looked ensnared. A sharp pain clawed at his stomach. God have mercy on that _tonto_ the moment he left that stage.

 

 _“Remember me!”_ Ernesto’s vibrato carried with a strong high note that lasted for what felt like a full minute before it was slowly drowned away with the coming applause and deafening cheers, but Héctor could only scowl viciously with contempt as Ernesto basked in the limelight and even the judge joined in. How ironic. He was the only one not amazed by his own song.

 

The performance was over as he politely refused calls for an encore and tow a sweeping bow, white outfit shimmering in the spotlight. He quickly disembarked and through his peripheral vision the student saw the judge get up from his seat and immediately darted towards a beaming Ernesto and he stood up rather abruptly as well, clenching his hands into fists as his face went red and tears pricked at the ducts of his eyes.

 

Amongst the general sounds of amazement he picked out pieces of the wonder he’d inspired.

 

_That was amazing Ernesto, mi alma!_

 

_How ever did he pull off that high note?_

 

_Ay; such potential and such original songs!_

 

_I shall always remember you, Ernesto!_

 

Each word pushed him forth in his seething rage as he stormed across the _cantina_ floor. He felt violated, hearing their swoons and knowing he’d directly stolen one of his songs right out from under him-- and for a finale. And in a fast tempo. As a _love ballad_.

 

“What is your name, Señor?”

 

“Ernesto de la Cruz.” He extended a hand to the judge.

 

“How would you feel about entering the upcoming annual _Dio Des Los Santos_ Musical Competition? From what I can tell you’ve certainly got the talent, and I’d be happy to sponsor you should you be interested?”

 

He looked ready to respond when his eyes suddenly found Héctors and they softened from his elation to a brief flash of sadness before he turned and smiled broadly at him as if nothing had just transpired and he was completely blind to his friend’s rage.

 

“I’d be delighted, Señor.” He nodded as the other man readied himself to grab him and haul him to the nearest back alleyway and… and…

 

“Provided, of course;” He tacked on. “That I may have a moment to speak with my dear friend before I accept.”

 

It took all the dignity he had not to make a witty remark about them not being friends but something in Ernesto’s eyes stopped him and his conscience suddenly held the reigns as he felt the singer clasp a hand tightly around his shoulder and gently lead him out the back door until the cool December breeze and nightly smells of cooking chorizo and muddy street greeted their quick departure.

 

The moment the door closed Héctor tore himself free and gave the singer a furious shove and he collided with the brick wall of the other building in the alley, making a slight sound upon impact.

 

“ _¡Estás pero si bien cabrón!_ ” He snarled as Ernesto pulled himself off the wall and faced him with steely eyes.

 

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” He shook his head.

 

“ _Mira qué cabrón._ ” He countered, crossing his arms defensively.

 

“Héctor, _mi amigo,_ please,” He splayed his hands at his side, guitar off his back and hanging at his side like an unarmed soldier. “What is this about?”

 

He gave one mocking chuckle. “You know damn well what this is about De la Cruz. I _never_ taught you that song.” The musician grimaced. “And I most certainly never gave you permission to play it for all of Santa Cecilia for your career!”

 

“The last one? _Remember Me?_ ” His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I thought it was just one of our songs!”

 

“It was one of _my_ songs!” He retorted hotly. “It was something special between my _hija_ and I and you just played it for a judge who is part of a highly public music competition!”

 

“Coco? _Ay, mi amigo_ I don’t understand!”

 

“You were never supposed to even know that song existed!” He boomed. “I never told you a word about it and somehow you learned it well enough to bastardize it!”

 

“ _Bastardize_ is a strong word, Héctor. I merely embellished something you gave me!”

 

“ _Como mierda_ I gave it to you!” He fumed and stormed up the the singer. “You can’t lie to me, Ernesto.”

 

“Héctor stop this.” He backed away to the wall. “You’re being paranoid!”

 

“You’re not convincing me, De la Cruz.” He growled.

 

“I got it from you the time you left your notebook and sheet music with me! It was last month-- when you let me borrow your guitar to practice with!”

 

He blinked and stopped as his mind suddenly raced and he stared at his partner, eyes contorted with a weary disappointed look. The guitar laid at his feet, the other man clearly having put it down like a barrier between them both. Suddenly it made sense. He’d never mentioned the song to Ernesto and told him not to play it.

 

“You must’ve just left it there by accident.” The tension split like a crack in the ground and the rage simmered softly in his stomach as his own gaze listed downwards to the guitar that had been a thing of pride for them both and was now being used to keep him from doing harm.

 

He couldn’t recall it; but that didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened. He wasn’t often liable to blow up about things like this and especially not to his partner in crime.

 

Finally, he stared at Ernesto, sad look not fading away as he picked up the guitar slowly and walked up to him.

 

“It was our lullaby, Ernesto-- something between us and something too special for the world to have. Music is a beautiful thing to share, but it’s also a beautiful thing to keep.” His gaze hardened a bit. “I never want to hear you playing that song again in public, for anyone. If I ever hear you so much as mention it to another soul you will be doing a solo act for the rest of your life, and I will not give you any other chances. Do you understand me?”

 

“Héctor...” He looked bewildered. “It’s just a song…”

 

“A song that’s between Coco and I.” He cut him off. “I don’t want to leave you but I will not let you make it into some love ballad for your endless sea of fans. Promise me.”

A moment passed and he nodded weakly, gulping down a response. “ _Sí_ , I promise.”

 

“Good.” He answered and handed him the guitar before turning around and starting towards the back door.

 

Then Ernesto cleared his throat. “Héctor, _mi amigo,_ I didn’t rewrite it for my fans.”

 

The other man stopped, wishing they could close the matter as his anger began to subside but he sighed, hand hovering at the door knob. “Then who was it for?” He tried to conceal his irritation. If his partner meant to dedicate this song to anyone but his daughter it would only serve to make him more angry.

 

“Well,” He gripped the neck of the guitar with one hand and the other moved to massage the back of his neck. “I wrote it for you.”

 

A puff of air escaped his lungs and suddenly he suffocated as his feet turned to lead and blood rushed from his head to his heart which began beating as if he were encountering some dangerous desert beast and not his dear partner.

 

His hips and thighs gushed with warmth as he turned around and looked sadly at the other man who stood in the shadows, instrument in hand and no longer shy or sheepish to his face, but his sharp jaw and cheeks were a soft, rosey red.

 

A full minute passed as his mind raced and tried to comprehend what exactly he had just said even though it was clear as the stars in the cold, black sky that Ernesto had just admitted that he had dedicated the most precious song in his life as a love ballad. For him. _To_ him.

 

He suddenly felt unwell as he gulped down his tongue and his throat burned from the tejuino he’d drunken before, like fire that swirled from his throat to his heart and something damp was trying to escape his clouding eyes.

 

The millions of questions were left to drown in his sudden surge of action. Slowly at first, then faster he strode across the alley, out of the light and into the embrace of the dark shadows. Ernesto’s face contorted with slight apprehension and he looked ready to say something.  

 

Héctor’s lips stopped him.

 

He tasted bitter and tart, like the tequila he so craved. His larger hand snaked around his shaggy hair and held him close as he savoured the experience like he was bound for the afterlife the moment they parted.

 

It had to end sometime, but in their rush and lust they simply didn’t care. Hands held heads and waists, fingers squeezing into the fabric of their clothes and underneath. Eyes were shut in fantasy and imagination courses through their minds as their definition of each other suddenly changed in almost every way.

 

Finally, Héctor pulled back and stared at the other man deeply, tears brimming in his eyes.

 

“Ernesto,” He said quietly. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

 

He grinned devilishly, petting the back of his head gently. “Do what, _mi amigo_?”

 

“Us…” He replied wearily.

 

“ _Mi amor,_ ” The singer’s free hand brushed the beard on his chin as he led Héctor’s eyes to meet his again. “The _corazón_ wants what it wants. You cannot deny your feelings for me, can you?”

 

His heart fluttered as his mouth opened slightly. “No…”

 

“Then let things fall where they may.” His smooth voice sent shivers down the other man’s spine. “We’ll figure it out. After all, we are partners.”

 

“We are.” Héctor confirmed with a small grin.

 

“We’ll do whatever it takes;” He prompted and placed a small kiss on his forehead where thick bangs parted.

 

“We’ve seized our moment.” The other man breathed softly and felt content to remain in his grip forever. He hadn’t felt such a connection with someone like this in a very long time.

 

Had they been unaccompanied and untethered there was no telling what passions could’ve escaped them in such a dark, secluded place.

 

“Not yet, _mi amigo_ ,” Ernesto reminded him. “We still must seize that judge before he gets impatient.”

 

He almost wanted to just say _a la mierda_ and remain where he was but his judgement quickly got the better of his lust and he nodded before releasing Ernesto from where he was pressed up against the wall and they both dusted themselves off.

 

“Do you need a moment, Héctor?” The singer inquired as the pair stared at each other for a moment. Without even realizing it he was nodding. “I’ll go sign up, then. Meet me at our usual seats whenever you’re ready and I’ll buy you a drink. Tejuino, if I can remember correctly?”

 

“ _Sí_ , I won’t be long.” He nodded, regaining his senses slowly.

 

“Don’t wait up.” The other man joked and then was gone, the clamour and noise of the _cantina_ briefly shattering the calmness of the night before the door shut and the silence returned.

 

Héctor enjoyed a few deep breaths, and tried to dull his elation before entering the fray once more for that promised drink and companionship.

 

* * *

 

The night after he and Ernesto revealed their feelings to each other, Héctor savoured another drink and a night of celebration to which he’d earned Imelda’s blessing and an insistent promise to meet this new _amigo_ with a warm hearted smile.

 

But then Héctor sees it in the soft light of the morning day as she made her intentions known to him that she wished to meet De la Cruz. It was a mere flash but an unmistakable gleam in her eyes that passes the breakfast table by and within another flash she focuses on her morning _huevos_ and Héctor sips his coffee, his eyes darting to the grandmother clock on the wall.

 

He couldn’t appraise its name at first but remembering his kiss the night before struck the idea like a match to a tinderbox: jealousy.

 

He kisses her goodbye and everything seemed the same as before, but Imelda had been a very talented _actriz_ in her days before him, but deception was never her lot.

 

It baffled him all the more on the train and he racked his brain for possible motivators and Ernesto came to mind. He’d never met Imelda or Coco before but that much was clear. Both his wife and his friend knew who each other were through his words and as the car rattled along the tracks he struggled to trace back every word he’d said to his wife and what could’ve possibly given any notion of a relationship before this morning.

 

There hadn’t even _been_ anything until last night… had there?

 

Ernesto had never propositioned him or put him in a position to reciprocate any affections he’d held for his _amigo_ before. He’d never said anything touchy or approached the subject and their love had been platonic and safely fraternal. Even when he’d said _mi amor_ that one time it was in the throes of a passionate delivery… he was a dramatic _hombre._

 

And Imelda-- he’d kept his end of the bargain to be home for dinner and bed and they’d even had sex a week back. They still kissed, they still sang, they still danced and they still loved each other from all the signs he could see. What was he missing?

 

He sighed with frustration and dug around his bag through the papers and notes, fumbling in the dark cowhide case as he pulled out his sheet music and tutoring notes. Ernesto had annotated them before on the nights he’d left homework to practice when his roommates were out of the house. The small, choppy handwriting was slightly difficult to read with all the bouncing around, but the pieces of the puzzle only scrambled further the longer he dug for deeper meaning when they were just notes and nothing more. Ernesto wasn’t deceitful or frankly bright enough for a secret code.

 

He picked up the copy of _Remember Me_ and looked at the charcoal alterations dotted along the bars where he’d changed it to his show tune ballad and even knowing it was for him he still felt an urge to wipe his music clean. It still didn’t sit right with him, but he wasn’t about to ruin something he easily saw are a remarkable amount of progress. The chords, though effectively stolen, were still nice and pleasant sounding.

 

Biting his lip as he scanned the lyrics over again, he muttered a small curse as he folded the piece in half and stuck it back into the jumble of sheet music, still no closer to figuring out why or how Imelda knew something was amiss.

 

Then as he was about to close his bag, he saw a crisp rectangle amidst the yellowed and crimped parchment paper, it’s only outward flaw a bent corner and the white fray along the exposed edge.

 

He pulled it from the bag and examined it further. Crisp edges and a black inked eagle or Anahuac and a snake perched in its talons. A rose colored stamp marked it’s broken corner and the black word _telegrama_ was embossed at it’s head.

 

The address was Ernesto’s. The heading requested that it be delivered to one Héctor Rivera at the deliverers earliest convenience. He narrowed his eyes as he read over the note and the date. This had to have been the telegram he’d received that one evening.   

 

The one Imelda had read. The one he ignored her and said to leave it till morning. The one that had made her say he could talk to her, if he needed to-- and he’d brushed her off with reassurance that she couldn’t buy.

 

Reading Ernesto’s frankly promiscuously affectionate grammar he would’ve had to have been struck dead to not see why she’d be concerned.

 

_Mi amigo, Héctor, I feel as though our times together have been meaning something and I would be a fool to be leading you on if you indeed felt the way I do about you and your musical gifts. For my lack of responsiveness I must apologize, for I didn’t for a very long time think you could ever feel the love that I do deep in my corazón, and I still do not know if you care to reciprocate but I simply cannot keep mi alma quiet any longer. If you do, let give me a sign one way or another, and all can be forgiven or forgotten._

 

_Hasta la vista, y gracias._

 

_Your amigo, Ernesto de la Cruz_

 

He would’ve thought him drunk but his articulation and lack of spelling errors left a dry and sober conclusion. He’d thought something was there, clearly. It could’ve been as simple as turning him down but then he’d have been missing out on something beautiful; something amazing… something that they’d vowed to keep hidden, whatever it took, and because of his mistake she knew that something was amiss and he’d led her on like a _cabrón_ and left her alone when she just felt alone and suspicious and somehow jealous _._

 

As far as she knew he didn’t feel anything for his dear partner and yet he couldn’t lie to her now. His move had been made. A barrier had been crossed. It wasn’t as simple as explaining anymore knowing what he’d discovered last night and what he’d promised to Ernesto.

 

He suddenly found himself wishing he could just keep riding, not stopping for anything and going as far south as he could. Never return to either Ernesto or Imelda and leave them behind for a new life.

 

But that was a quickly abandoned fantasy and not a pleasant one he realized knowing it meant never seeing Ernesto, Imelda or Coco again. They were all far too important to him to ever lose and yet he couldn’t choose between them. Why hadn’t he have just read that _condenado telegrama_?

 

Because even then he still would’ve been leading Ernesto on. Even then, it still wouldn’t have mattered-- he’d met a wonderful man with a gift and passion that matched the beat of his own and no amount of changing the past mistakes would ever leave him in a better place than before he’d first sat down next to him and bought him a drink.

 

The announcer’s voice echoed in the almost fully occupied train car, the early rays of the morning sun peeking over the flat horizon in the distance and drenching the crude, wooden interior in a rosey pink light. The sound of the brakes screeching on the tracks rung against the windows as the car slowly ground to a stop. The other students stood up from their seats, bags in hand as they filed out the door one by one.

 

Héctor sighed wearily and looked at the telegram again with distress lingering as the other men walked past him. Gulping down his anxiety he folded the note in half and carefully put it back where it had rested before, closed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder as he joined the procession to school.

 

He would figure this out later. He had no choice. He couldn’t exactly contact either of them with a one way phone no where within his reach and no way of knowing if they’d pick up. Imelda said she wanted to meet Ernesto soon, and with Imelda that meant within a day or she’d bypass what authority he had to complete the task herself.

 

The day marched on with sweat and fear clawing at his back, unsteady nerves leading him to nearly drop a beaker full of potassium chloride in the middle of a volatile lab and he managed to pass it off when _Señor_ Basurto inquired to his behavior. He merely stuck to notes from that point on and let his lab partner complete the experiment while he tried to keep steady hands when recording their findings, barely paying attention to a word he’d said, a nameless face between his fear and angst.

 

The bell rang, feet clambered on the station platform. The whistle of the conductor pulled him on board and he looked at the _telegrama_ again.

 

_...cannot keep mi alma quiet any longer..._

 

_...feel the love that I do deep in my corazón…_

 

_...Your amigo, Ernesto de la Cruz._

 

It said so little but to anyone important it was so much more than words. The train pulled to stop after stop and the rush of cold wind pushed in while people pushed out, the student a mere pebble in the rushing river.

 

* * *

 

Dinner proved amusing.

 

Ernesto had showed up per Héctor’s invitation after very specific instructions to not do or say anything that connotated there was an amorous connection between them fashionably early by five, joked with Imelda between her visits to the kitchen to check on her _tamales_ and _chorizo_ , and Héctor was left to pretend and scan his notes in the living room with Coco deep in her imagination once again.

 

Halfway between eating Héctor had very nearly choked on a bite of sausage when the topic of conversation turned to tutoring sessions.

 

“I swear the chords he’s teaching me are unlike anything I’ve ever heard before!”

 

“ _Sí,_ ” Imelda agreed with a smooth voice, stabbing into her _chorizo_ coyly and giving her husband a look from across the table. “He is a very practised man. You _güeys_ must have a lot of fun coming up with things to play.”

 

 _Dios mío_ it was hard finding her double meanings.

 

“Eh,” Ernesto shrugged and clapped a hand to Héctor’s back and he swallowed his food with a gulp and wide eyes. “He’s really the brains behind us. I just play along.”

 

His face went red and he snaked his foot around the singer’s in an attempt to signal that certain words could tip the scale.

 

“My husband is far from perfect, Ernesto, believe me. When certain chores involving _lavandería_ come around he’s nowhere to be seen.” She rolled her eyes and grinned at him before taking her bite.

 

“But he’s incredible! I don’t know where I’d be without him.”

 

“And I should say the same.” She nodded in agreement. “We’re both _muy afortunado_.”

 

Héctor felt heat in his face and he took a breath. “ _Mi cariña_ , please excuse me.”

 

“Is something wrong, Héctor?” She pressed as she looked between the two men. Ernesto laughed with a beaming smile.

 

“Of course not, Imelda. It’s just the _chorizo_ , I’m sure!” He joked and Héctor felt his eye twitching.

 

“Ernesto, _mi amigo,_ please. I need to discuss something with you.” He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t mind us. We’ll return in _uno momento._ ”

 

Before the singer could object he was pulled from his chair and the other man dragged him by his arm into his bedroom, knowing full well this would only serve to improve his wife’s suspicions but he simply couldn’t handle the stress of knowing the fine line that Ernesto was dancing on in regards to what had changed and what needed to change now before the conversation progressed and ate him alive like some kind of cannibalistic fiend.

 

“What, _mi amigo_? I thought I was being inviting!”

 

He groaned softly. “Not _this_ inviting. ‘He’s really incredible?’ ‘He’s the brains behind _us_ ?’ You sound like some _chica_ gushing to her _diario_.”

 

“I’m only being honest, Héctor.” Ernesto frowned at him, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

 

“And honesty is the absolute _last_ thing that we need now!” He whispered harshly.

 

“And who’s to say this isn’t _amor fraterno_?” He countered with a tilt of his head. “You make it sound like I said I kissed you or something.”

 

“You _güey_ she _knows._ She read the _telegrama_ . We can’t even seem like _amigos_ or else it’s all over!”

 

“So is that what you want?” His frown deepened as his eyes darkened. “You want me to just leave your life after all we’ve done for each other?”

 

“Maybe it’s for the best right now.” He didn’t waver in his words and something within Ernesto seemed to snap as tears brimmed at his small eyes.

 

“You said you’d do whatever it took to make this work. That wasn’t a lie, was it?”

 

Héctor recoiled as if struck. “No, Ernesto it never was. It still is. I--” His voice cracked slightly. “I want to keep my promise, I really do.”

 

“...But?” The singer began for him, raising an eyebrow.  

 

“But there’s too much for me to take. I love you both too much to choose one of you over the other.”

 

“So what does it mean for us?”

 

He sighed, deflated. “It means I need time to think about this, _mi amigo._ ”

 

“Do you want me to go?”

 

“ _Sí._ ” He nodded, sitting down on the bed. “I don’t feel well.”

 

“What should I tell Imelda?”

 

“Tell her you need to see your _mama Silvia_.”

 

His gaze shifted to the floor, wincing at the reference. “I meant about you, _mi amigo._ ” He seemed slightly depressed.

 

Héctor sighed wistfully. “Tell her it’s my stomach. The _chorizo,_ maybe. She did say it was from a new _carnicero_.”

 

With that he turned and walked to the door but just as he was about to open it his hand froze on the doorknob.

 

“Héctor,” He said quietly. “What should I tell Coco?”

 

He shut his eyes, trying not to think about what his _hija_ would say if he said he didn’t feel up to singing her to sleep like he always had every night of his life. She’d be concerned if she didn’t get a good excuse and the absolute last thing he wanted was to cause her anguish when there was currently more than enough of that to go around.

 

“Be honest.” He laid back, hands over eyes as he held back tears. “Tell her her _Papá_ is sick.”

 

“But that’s not true…?” Ernesto looked over at him.

 

“It is.” His voice cracked. “Whatever it takes to make her understand.”

 

The door shut. Ernesto was gone. In the few moments he had the lonely musician cried in his solitude. It was the first time he’d done so in years but he simply couldn’t hold the tears back.

 

Much heartbreak would be felt this evening.

 


End file.
